


The Valentine from Cloud Eight Point Nine

by BreatheQuietly



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, non-massacre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26010775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreatheQuietly/pseuds/BreatheQuietly
Summary: After accepting a mission to stay on the payroll, Sakura finds herself alone and expectant in a world that is not her own.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Hyuuga Hinata/Uchiha Obito, Hyuuga Hinata/Uzumaki Naruto, Nara Shikamaru/Yamanaka Ino, Sai/Yamanaka Ino
Comments: 26
Kudos: 147





	1. Prologue

The Valentine from Cloud Eight Point Nine

**Prologue**

The butterfly effects the bee by their unity.

“Hana!”

Green eyes dart up at the sound, her fingers wavering over the ryō she had been counting. It was not her true moniker, but her employer was adamant that ‘Sakura’ was just one too many syllables for visitors to possibly string together. With a sullen sigh, she pushes herself off the wall and shoves the money back into the cups of her outworn bra, pausing briefly to gaze outside. The bruising sky was a kind reminder that her shift was coming to an end. A ghost of a smile graces her lips at this, and her small, tapered fingers thumb the sleeve of her kimono before it drags across her sweltering temple. She does not waste another moment and lifts her skirts to trail after the voice that cut through the bustling tea house.

Yugakure was a beautiful place, there was no doubt about it. Her fridge back home was littered with many postcards of Naruto’s infamous travels to the hot springs, but now being here herself, she found that the pictures didn’t give the ex-hidden village justice. The mineral-rich hot waters that pooled along the mountains and coastlines were a sight to behold for many, both civilian and shinobi alike would travel from all corners of the world just to spectate the bleeding sunsets that set the horizon aflame every evening. It was almost a shame that she would be leaving soon. 

Almost.

The deposit for her passage back to Konoha had already been settled the week prior thanks to a small but steady paycheque. Working in a tea house was a humbling experience and had its unusual benefits – especially with the variety of people that would pour through the unassuming doors. She was delighted to find that even amid Yugakure’s pacifism, the streets were still lined with crooks, criminals and corrupt ninja—all of whom had the banal habit of drinking tea on their days off. It took her no time at all to find a regular patron that would fulfil her sensitive request. 

“Hana!” The voice calls again, causing a curse to tumble from her lips. She marches hurriedly against the pine decks and rounds a corner to come face to face with an elderly woman who was leaning expectantly against a doorway. Her trained ears could pick up the faint sounds of loose tea leaves grinding into the palm of the woman’s frail hands, and as Sakura passes through the humid kitchen, wobbly legs follow vigilantly behind.

“You called?” Sakura huffs out, pawing at the yellow material that became loose from her kimono. The elder is silent for a moment and drops the crushed leaves into a stray bowl, in the meantime, Sakura’s eyes flicker to the badge that decorated the sunken chest of the woman that that was openly frowning at her. _Miya,_ it gleams.

“Arms up,” Miya instructs.

Sakura raised her arms with little fuss.

“Teeth,” Miya prompts further.

Sakura did what she was told and gave the brightest smile she could muster, in return, the elder’s frown deepened, “for goodness sake,” she mutters, grabbing a cloth to wipe at the lipstick that was stubbornly stuck to her pearly whites.

Sakura didn’t feel the need to apologise, but she did so anyway.

Seemingly satisfied with her appearance, Miya motions for her to turn around. “The chashitsu by the koi pond needs clearing, our guests are finished with their supper and are ready to make payment,” she pauses briefly to retighten Sakura’s obi. “Do you need a bigger size girl? Your breasts are close to offering a service we don’t offer here.”

Sakura flushes pink before turning back to face the older women, her arms crossing defensively. “No, I just didn’t tie it properly this morning, I was rushing because, um – I woke up late.”

Miya raised a thin brow. “Why did you wake up late?”

“I went to bed late.” She replies quickly.

“And why did you go to bed late?” The elder prods.

“Well…” now an answer was hard to come by, she couldn’t freely admit that she spent majority of the evening becoming well acquainted with the toilet bowl, Miya would have never let her work if that were the case and that would not do.

She decided not to answer and instead gave a non-committal shrug, hopeful that it was enough to drop the subject.

It was not.

“Boys are an extra-curricular activity. They’re not a necessity for you to –” she clears her throat and makes a vaguely vulgar hand signal, “ _do_ _well_ here. You’re a good enough worker with a good enough head on your shoulders, the sooner you drop the fool you’re entangled with the better. It’s only a matter of time before he robs you blind or worse, puts a baby in you,”

Sakura ignores the seedy implication and points out dryly, “You have four children,”

Miya waves dismissively. “Besides the point – babies will rob you consistently for eighteen years and smile while they do it too, they’re spiteful little creatures.”

“It _does_ sound like you’re –“

“Speaking from experience? That’s because I am girl, I’m still paying off my youngest spawn’s tuition and he graduated fifteen years ago! I love the kid to death, but if I had a second chance at this damned life, you’d best believe that I’d be the first one to swallow,” she croons out, smacking her lips saucily.

“Miya, If I ever wanted an image to be burned from my consciousness, this would be it.”

The old lady shrugs.

“Well if it helps you sleep better at night, I can assure you that I’m not entangled with anyone, I’ve just been restless these days.” Sakura offers.

The older woman sighs unhappily and hands the pink haired girl an empty tray. “It’s never been about _me_ getting a good night’s sleep,” she pauses to pick up the bowl she abandoned earlier, “I’ve kept you long enough – go now Hana, let’s not keep our guests waiting. I will be placing an order on a better fitting uniform for you whether you like it or not and we can catch up later okay?”

Sakura could only nod, her pastel locks falling defeatedly to shield her red cheeks. 

With the tray tucked firmly under her arm she wanders towards the chashitsu. It had been six weeks since she washed up on the calm shores of Yugakure with nothing but a concussion that could rival Naruto’s to her name. Her mission had been simple: Travel to the land of Whirlpool and provide medicinal aid to struggling archaeologists. A seemingly straightforward b-rank mission had turned into a six-week excursion, and although these situations were not unheard of in the shinobi world, it was never something that Sakura had to deal with on her own. With her capabilities, getting back to Konoha should not have been a problem, but it was only when Sakura failed to summon chakra into her limbs on the fifth day of being stranded in the land of hot water that she despaired and sought to write home.

_~~Dear Kakashi-sensei~~ _

_Dear Rokudaime,_

_I have given medical aid to the historians in the Land of Whirlpool as requested. After my task was completed my position became compromised. I’m unsure of what transpired, but I was rendered unconscious and later discovered on the south coast of the Land of Hot Water. I’m currently not in the best condition but will manage to make my own arrangements to get back to Konoha safely, please send back up if I’m not back by the time you receive this. You’ll find me at Sa-an tea house Yugakure._

_\- Sakura_

After five drawn-out weeks she had heard nothing back, which unfortunately did not come as a surprise. She mulled over the evidence that the card currently decorating her fridge had arrived two months _after_ Naruto’s return from his honeymoon and if she were to apply a similar timeframe, her report would not be with them for at least another three weeks.

_The downside to civilian villages…three weeks is way too late._

Absentmindedly she outlines the cool metal of the tray underneath her arm, relishing the feeling beneath her fingers. She steps outside to observe the sun that had just set but grimaces at the heat that still lingers on her skin. She takes a long breath and sets off into the throng of boisterous customers, weaving between warm and sticky bodies, being careful not to bark at the handful that refused to give her space to move.

It’s sad, she thinks sourly, without the ability to manipulate chakra she was about as dangerous as Pakkun raiding her biscuit tin.

The slight tremble of her lips betrays fond recollections of Kakashi’s miserable companion that shared the same taste of off-brand shampoo as her. She bites the inside of her cheek and squashes thoughts of charmingly ugly dogs and _home_ and other things as she digs her heels into the winding path. She climbs the small steps of the secluded tearoom and clutches the tray before her hand grazes the panels of the shoji door. “Come in,” a voice calls out. Sakura silently slips off her sandals and enters quietly; her head bowed.

“Hello —” she looks up and stumbles back, her mouth falls open.

_Impossible._

Three armed men engrossed in a conversation that fell on her deafened ears were huddled around a cramp, short-legged table. The map of fire country was spread over its smooth surface and the empty dishes she intended to collect were used to anchor the thick paper to deter it from curling in on itself. They were leaf shinobi, clearly, and skilled ones at that but what made her breath seize and her stomach coil dreadfully were the blazing uchiwa fans that stood proudly on their uniforms.

Her knuckles turned white.

“Are you going to just stand there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The man asks.

She’s hallucinating, she thinks, she must be. Her eyes close because there’s no other reason for her to be in room full of dead men.

“Well?” The man asks again.

She opens her eyes, but they remain, steady, waiting. A choked noise bubbles from her throat and remembers she has a job to do.

“S-sorry,” she approaches the table, the men, unaware of her inner turmoil simply carry on with their muted conversations and only shift to make room for her. She ignores the tremble of her hands and stiffly begins to collect the cups and bowls, placing it on the tray that was settled in her lap.

“The Godaime has left the summit, it should be a few days before he’s back in Konoha. We’ll provide back-up in case he is being tailed.” 

Startled at the voice, Sakura jerks her head to the right to see a familiar red head stalking into the room, shaking water from pale, bit ridden hands. She slides the glasses from her nose and pauses to observe the girl that was clearing the table, her brows furrow before sliding them off completely to clean them with the sleeve of her cropped top.

Sakura opens her mouth—

“Do I know you?” The red head drawls.

And promptly closes it.

Sakura shakes her head dumbly, her tongue too heavy to speak. With the remaining dregs of her concentration, she grabs the last cup and stands on wobbly legs, step by step she all but sprints towards the exit.

Ruby eyes follow her, only to shift to the abandoned ryō that was left on the short-legged table.

She frowns.

* * *

Miya nearly jumps out of her skin at the loud noise of cups and plates crashing into the sink. A curse slips past her thin lips and begins to berate the pink haired girl for being so clumsy, the girl grips her ankle painfully before steadying herself on the counter. She seems to take the scolding in her stride and simply lifts the faucet up as high as it could go, the loud eruption of water splashing against the dishes fill the room.

The girl turns briskly to face the older woman.

“Who is the Roku…no, Godaime Hokage?” She asks.

“What?”

“The Hokage, who is it?”

“Lower the tap I can’t hear you girl…”

“A little lower.”

“ _Little_ lower.”

“Okay one more time.”

“Who is the Godaime Hokage?” Sakura hisses out.

This time Miya cackles, “You’re telling me you don’t know who lead the biggest coup in history?” she wheezes out, “You really are living in your own little world aren’t you? Uchiha Fugaku is Hokage child!”

Something in the room shifts as the faucet comes to an abrupt stop, the girl’s eyes glaze over and her body stills. Sensing that she read the room wrong, Miya tentatively reaches for the sleeve of her subordinate which seems to snap her out of her brief stupor.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

The girl smiles. “I’m fine.”

Sakura’s not fine.

Sakura suddenly needs to go.

Miya calls after her, but it’s too late, her legs are limping hurriedly on their own accord and the voice in her head is unusually quiet.

She rounds a corner and slams into a man that she did not realise she was looking for, his shaved head was large but his stomach was larger and the tattoo’s that covered his bulging arms were depictions of what she could only assume were his children. A lit cigarette falls between his lips as he cocks his head to eyeball the erratic girl in front of him.

“Sid!” Ignoring the nosy onlookers, Sakura pulls him towards the living quarters, her voice desperate. “I need to leave _now_ , I can’t be seen in Konoha, I need to go to the Land of Whirlpool.”

Sid took another puff of his cigarette; a hacking cough racked his body before he responded.

“Well that’s gonna cost extra lass,”

“But Whirlpool is closer than Konoha,” she points out.

Sid shrugs.

“It will literally take you _half_ the time!” She insists.

He shrugs again, but this time offers a gappy smile.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters as she shoves a hand into the cup of her bra, the other hand grabs the cigarette that was hanging limply off Sid’s chubby fingers and throws it unceremoniously to the ground, his protests are cut short as his empty fingers were filled with the rustling of paper bills. 

Her smile was anything but pleasant. “I’m sure that will cover it.”

Sid, with a slight red tinge to his cheeks, duly counts the money before pocketing it. “S’alright lass, meet me at the stables in a bit and we’ll get going.”

By the time he finished his sentence she was already pushing through the heavy entryway of her dorm.

She closes the door with a firm click and limps towards her bed. Her hand worms itself underneath her mattress and brings out a rucksack with the garments she washed up in and quickly dumps it over her thin, scratchy blanket.

Not caring who could potentially walk in on her, she throws her kimono off and begins to put on clothes that were familiar to her. She steps into her black shorts, slipping them over the curve of her hips and calmly ignored the fact that it was fitting more snuggly than before. Next, her fingers brush over the fabric of her red qipao dress and decides to forgo it, instead she grabs her black sleeveless undershirt and throws it over her head, cursing at the coiled bun that got caught in the movement. She shoves the damning red garment back into her bag before her fingers move up to her hair.

Sakura _knew_ she should have refused the mission, it had been a Sunday after all, her day of rest. She was supposed to catch up with Ino and Sai, blissfully avoid her problems and if she were feeling hospitable, she would have gone to the store to pick up those cat-shaped biscuits Pakkun loved. But the moment she stood in the Hokage’s office and her teacher lazily blinked up at her to say, “I’m happy to keep you full time at the hospital, but I’ll have to take you off active Jōnin duties if you don’t accept this mission – it’s been too long since you’ve been on the field and I can’t play favourites Sakura,” her dreams of a quiet Sunday had shattered into unsalvageable pieces.

With a growl she grips the pin that kept her bun together and pulls intently. Long, pink tresses fall heavy against her back, her nose wrinkling at the strands that clung stubbornly to the back of her neck. She throws her head forward to gather her hair into a ponytail and comes up to grab a long tan cloak that lay on the adjacent bed to hers.

She does not look back as she shoulders her bag and makes her way to the exit.

She can do this.

* * *

Sid’s large form was hard to miss. He was leaning boldly against a chestnut coloured mare that was happily chewing hay in its cubicle, an unlit cigarette was tucked firmly behind his ear as he stroked the long ginger mane. Sakura shuffled carefully towards him and unconsciously touched the hood that covered her bright hair before she joined in to pet the serene creature.

“What’s her name?” She coos.

“Horse.” He says.

“…Oh.”

The large man turns to her, “s’that all you’re bringing?”

Straight to business she nods sheepishly, “I didn’t have a lot to begin with.”

“Alright lass, give it ‘ere and I’ll load it up.”

Sakura shimmies out of the bag with little effort and edges forward, she grasps the strap and goes to hand it over, however the moisture resting on the tips of her digits causes the band to slip through her tapered fingers. “Shit, sorry,” she mumbles as she bends over to pick up the contents. 

The whizz of a rogue kunai is heard before warm liquid dusts the hood of her tan cloak. She looks up and could only watch in shock as Sid fails to remove the metal that pierced through his arm, blood begins to seep through his short, stubby fingers and he curses loudly.

“Fuck,” he hisses, sliding to the floor.

She yanks the weapon from Sid’s wound, earning another profanity from him, and grips the cool metal. Her legs fall into a defensive stance and cringes at her ankle.

“Keep pressure on the wound!” She calls to her withering companion.

The assailant comes into view.

“I’d stop if I were you.” The face says.

Her breath leaves her as the knot in her lungs tighten, suffocating, the slick heat that’s trapped between her cloak and epidermis sweeps tortuously up her arms and legs, and yet it’s the flush that creeps up her pale throat that concerns her the most.

She knows this face, she has history with this face, she has touched this face. She has seen this face a thousand times, but the face that stares idly back at her is a complete stranger. His hair too short, his posture too relaxed, his eyes too similar—

_He’s not real._

“I’d stop if I were you.” She mirrors as she grips the weapon tighter.

He takes another step and with expert precision she lobs the blood coated blade at the direction of his head. He deflects the metal with his own and continues to step forward.

Her fingers curl into her palm. “You’re lucky I’m better with my fists.”

“You’re injured.” He says.

“And _you’re_ dead if you come any closer.”

He takes another step.

“Get back,”

Another step.

“Are you _deaf?_ I-I said get back! I’m serious!”

His hand reaches out as if to grasp her trembling arms but withdraws quickly before his fingertips could touch her bare skin. He squares his shoulders and moves his hand further up to ghost over her thin hood, with little consideration he tugs the soft material and lets it pool around her neck, his fingers curling into the fabric at her nape. Green, glossy eyes blink curiously at him and the finger stiffens.

She drops her hands

He leans back to gaze at her, matching pools of onyx studying her features carefully. She bites the inside of her cheek, unable to recollect the last time she saw him in this state and peers at the peculiar arm that holds her steady. The taut muscle flexes at her scrutiny and, in an instant, is removed from her person and disappears behind his back, only to reappear with a black book. She watches him flick precariously through the pages before he lands on what he’s looking for, his eyes flicker to her pink strands, and then frowns at the marking on her forehead and before she could question what he was doing, the book snaps shut and returns to the depths of his back pocket.

His eyes linger on her a little longer than necessary before the crackle of his radio breaks the strange silence. He angles himself away to grab the device that is perched on the breast of his uniform.

“Missing Haruno Sakura obtained, ID: 607851, detainee unarmed.”

_“Okay bring her in.”_

The swing comes a lot quicker than he anticipates. Usually the people who were stupid enough to engage combat with him made of the mistake of trying to land a punch on him. But on this occasion when he brings up his hand to where he expects the blow to land, she nimbly reads the movement and swings with a left hook, the force sending him careening into a block of hay. She stands above him panting, her fingers coiling into a tight fist.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!”

And in an instant, he disappears.

Before she can bolt, a hand shoots out and encircles her wrists in an iron grip. A wince tumbles from her lips as both arms are wrenched upwards and pinned painfully above her head, her small frame slams against a large beam with enough force to feel the wood splintering the thin material of her top, tearing the skin on her back. He frustratingly dwarfs her, too close and too tall for her to crane her neck to fully meet the muted contempt in his eyes, all she can do is glare at the reddening jaw clench tightly.

“Let me go!” She grounds out as a familiar burn touches her eyes. She would not cry. She would _not_. 

“Stop resisting.”

His grip only tightens when she continues to struggle, her chest hammering against his as panic settles beneath her ribcage. He doesn’t understand – she needs to go, she needs Naruto, she needs the last Uchiha, she can’t do this on her own.

She can’t.

“ _Sakura.”_

She also needs to throw up.

He holds her still, but his grip loosens enough for her mouth to suck in much needed oxygen.

Hot tears are blinked back as she tries to swallow her despair. “Sasuke-kun, _please,_ ” she relents in a last-ditch effort. “Let me go, I’m not who you think I am.”

A feminine voice cuts through her like a knife.

“Be careful with her Sasuke,” Karin chides as she crouches down to check the pulse of the very large and very unconscious companion, “she’s pregnant.”

The only sign that he had heard her was the brow that drew inwards. He slowly peels away from the body that was burning hot against his own and lets his eyes bleed crimson, his gaze falls down to a covered stomach, then travels upwards to betrayed eyes and then drops slightly to pink lips that were parted in shock. Ever so slowly the black commas of his Sharingan begin to spin, coaxing her into calm dormancy.

And when she falls, she doesn’t remember landing. She only remembers the sweet loll of her head swinging over the warm shoulder of the not-so-last Uchiha with fingers in her hair, trapped in a universe she has no right to be trapped in.

“Annoying.” He grumbles.

She could not help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by 'Ghost' by twilightdazzle - definitely check it out if you haven't done so! Let me know what you think :)


	2. Chapter 1

The Valentine from Cloud Eight Point Nine

Chapter 1

The sounds of bodies moving in unison thrummed behind the barstool she was demurely perched on; the customary dance she had with the bandana-clad birthday boy left her a little breathless and sticky to the touch, but nevertheless her lips were pulled into a small smile. She could call it a dance, but by the end of the song she was expertly removing his wandering hands between her round backside and the thin straps of her red dress that snapped to her skin. She shot a jovial glance at the very merry man who now had his sights set on an unsuspecting Ino and snickered. She readjusted herself on her seat beside Naruto and reached for an opened bottle of sake, an attempt was made to make a grab for her friend’s empty cup, but was stopped abruptly by his large bandaged hand that engulfed the rim of the glass. She inclined her head in question and Naruto simply grinned back at her with a shake of his head.

“Bath water would taste better.”

She shrugged and poured the liquid into her own cup.

“You know what that is?”

Naruto drummed his finger on his chin with fake thoughtfulness, “I think it’s where me and Hinata—ouch!”

“Don’t be gross!” She pulled back her fist in time for him to disappear into a cloud of smoke, causing her to roll her eyes. Of course, she thought flatly, he had left her with a shadow clone.

“That idiot…”

With a sigh she raked a hand through her free-flowing locks and gathered her attention back to her lone beverage.

It had been a while since she attended a social event, let alone a birthday drink-up for a man that she _kind of_ knew. But here she was, next-gen sannin turned hospital hermit, enjoying a rare night off in the company of her closest peers, and lapping at complimentary sake that Tsunade would have wiggled her brows at. Seven years was a long time, she thought with a small sip, that remnants of bloodshed still held the fire country in such a grip that she gravely found that her duty never diminished, only the opponent had changed.

She pressed a hand to her flushed cheeks and the other brought the drink to her parched lips.

The lasting mental and physical effects of warfare were brand new to Sakura, it had been her first true battle after all. She exhausted all her time and effort into the hospital, from training new medics, to aiding Tsunade with the regenerative cells of Hashirama, to pulling all-nighters with Shizune and Ino to cover missing shifts on the wards. It was unrelenting, it was arduous, and she knew she could not save everyone – but those she could save, those whose will of fire were thought to have been doused had set alight with the touch of her fingertips. It was an addictive feeling, seeing the spark of hope return to something so dimmed and despondent and yet, it was that particular kindling that she longed to see reflected in the eyes of a certain avenger.

Sakura drew in a sharp breath and refrained from drinking straight from the bottle, instead she grabbed the decanter and poured herself a very generous cup.

There was no use in thinking of him, he was gone and there was no indication of when he’d return. The question of whether Uchiha Sasuke would return to Konoha held the same weight as asking how long a piece of string was. It was an impossible task, his cord of atonement was immeasurable and although his efforts were vital in ending the war, the last Uchiha’s sins had left quite the mark.

Especially on her.

Her pulse strummed in a pattern that unwittingly brought a palm to splay across her tightening chest. She remembered the earth that shattered beneath her feet, the deafening chirps of his white lightning, the reek of her singed flesh; she remembered her blood staining the collar of his shirt; his emotionless stare as he removed his red-coated hand from the cavity of her chest. She remembered the dark lashes that framed his spinning rinnegan, the sleek sweat of his skin, the cruel curl of his lips as he called her annoying one last time. She remembered the final bloody battle, his limbless form next to Naruto, the tremble that racked her body when her hands glowed brilliant green. She remembered her tears as ‘I’m sorry’ kept tumbling from his manic lips.

Every last damning detail she remembers. All of it.

She grabbed the bottle and took a long swig, a recognisable buzz washed over her.

“You finished with that miss?”

She swivelled in her chair to address the voice and removed the bottle from her lips with a swift pop, the look she gave the bartender was almost apologetic as she expertly placed the object on his overcrowded tray.

Thoroughly embarrassed, she turned her back on the retreating figure and rested her burning cheek against the knuckles of her closed fist.

She seized the generous cup she poured earlier and jerked her arm.

“Watch out!”

Breaking glass followed by a loud cheer paused her movement. She swivelled in her chair once more, drink still grasped, and tried to catch a glimpse of the commotion.

A tall grinning man however, had other plans and purposely obscured her view. She scowled at Naruto and then at the brown paper bag that was deposited casually in her lap.

“So,” he says snatching the drink from her fingers, “you ready to hit the road? Hinata-chan is waiting for me to deliver the birthday cake, I got you one too.”

“You’re the one who dragged me here Naruto,” she reminds him as she plucks the drink back to bring to her lips. “Besides doing his physicals, I don’t know Genma that well.”

Hazy eyes drift to the bag that was nestled in her lap and decided to take a quick peep.

“Aw, you took the icing off too, thank you.”

“See? I do remember someth—ow!”

Sakura smiled sweetly, “just making sure I’m not thanking a clone.”

Naruto rubbed the sore spot on his arm and mumbled something she couldn’t quite catch, without warning he tugged her out of her seat, “Let’s get outta here.”

Her legs swayed at the swift movement and involuntarily stumbled into the blond, “Woah,” she breathed trying to steady herself, his hand automatically shot out to grip her shoulder and she shook her head. The small dots that danced across her vision disappeared.

She _definitely_ had too much to drink.

“Everything okay Sakura-chan?”

“Yeah, just some idiot pulled me up too quick.”

His grin turned sheepish, “Ah, sorry.”

Her lips lifted amusedly at his apology and allowed his hand to rest between her shoulder blades, he gently pushed them both through the party goers, careful to avoid the broken glass that adorned the sticky floor. The pair neared the exit but was stopped by the birthday boy himself who looked positively smashed. 

Genma slapped Naruto’s back encouragingly and sent Sakura a flirty wink, “Bring her home safe ‘kay?”

“Yes boss,” Naruto joked.

“And Sakura?”

“What?”

He paused briefly to bounce the senbon that dangled between his mouth, his dark eyes trailed down her red clad form and hummed in appreciation. “Can you wear that to my next physical?”

“How does your funeral sound?”

“I can have that arranged,”

Naruto and Sakura sighed in unison. “Goodbye Genma,”

They stepped out into the night and the cool air was a welcome relief to her flushed cheeks but had quite the opposite effect on the rest of her body, she shoved the paper bag back into the hand of her companion and crossed her arms to shield her puckering chest.

Maybe she did not drink _enough_?

The walk to her home was rather remarkable, much to her dismay, which tended to be the case whenever she was in the company of the saviour of the village. It did not take long to spot Sai and Ino who both offered a middle finger before immersing themselves back into a conversation that seemed far too sensitive to be had outside a bar.

Naruto only raised a brow, but Sakura made sure to make a note to ask her best friend about it when she was more stable.

They walked a bit further to see Teuchi and Ayame call out to them from behind the busy counter of Ichiraku’s and waved a cheery hello.

“All that partying must have worked up an appetite, come have a bite both of you!” Teuchi beckoned with a grin, slapping a rag over his shoulder.

She saw the bright gleam in Naruto’s eyes and decided to step in, she grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and roughly tugged him further down the street.

“We’d love to, but we can’t! Naruto has a very hungry wife waiting for him at home who is craving cake.”

“A happy wife is a happy life,” Teuchi agreed, “make sure you drop by sometime okay? We have a new menu out tomorrow.”

“You got it old man!” The blond promised as he was whisked away.

The cramped streets were lined with agonisingly slow-moving bodies, and it occurs to her that maybe it would have been a better idea to just surge chakra into her feet and climb the buildings. She took a chance to glance up at Naruto through her lashes, his jaw glistened with sleek sweat, his hair was dishevelled from constant raking, and the strained rise and fall of his chest gave enough inkling that Uzumaki Naruto was _exhausted_.

Maybe it was a bad idea to climb anything.

After a few tenuous minutes, it came as a relief to both when her place came into view.

She nudges her companion, “This is me,” she made a grab for the paper bag that was nestled in Naruto’s bandaged hand and grinned up at his tired face, “thanks for walking me home, you didn’t have to, I’m not twelve anymore.”

“It’s tradition Sakura-chan, I know you can handle yourself, but it doesn’t feel right to let you walk home alone this late.” 

Sakura nodded mutely and gave a small smile, “Now get that cake to Hinata will you?” She stumbled through the door and could practically hear him beam at the mention of his wife.

“Of course!”

She was about to close the door, but Naruto’s retreating figure made her call out to him, “you better rub her belly for me Naruto!”

His orange-clad form lifted an arm.

Now in the confines of her home Sakura kicked off her heeled sandals and eyed the paper’s that were haphazardly stuck out of her letter box. She gathered them all and padded towards her small kitchen before she wrenched open her picture riddled fridge, she went to place her cake-filled bag into the space but settled with taking a large bite of the delicate sponge. Strawberries and cream filled her mouth and it took all of her not to groan aloud, she placed the remnants back and picked up the letters. The cold light from the fridge illuminated the words etched on the paper. 

_Water bill, electric bill, take-out menu’s, payslips, pyramid schemes, rent, rent, first reminder, second reminder…_

Sakura sucked her thumb with the residue of cream and sighed as the list went on, she rested the letters on the counter and closed the door to her fridge, leaving her in darkness, she made a mental note to pay them all tomorrow. It was a rarity that she was at home due to her vital presence at the hospital, and unfortunately it meant that domestic life, her life rather, was put on the back burner. 

Not bothering to try and switch on any of the lights, she staggered her way to her modest bathroom. Her hands reached for the shower knob and was surprised to find that it actually turned on, excitement filled her as she hiked up the hem of her red dress and struck out a pale limb to test the temperature. She let out a shriek as freezing cold water splashed against her bare leg.

She closed the water off with a curse and shuffled into her bedroom. She will just have to shower tomorrow.

Her hands went to peel off her tight dress, but a movement behind her curtain caught her concern, the fabric shifted and a lithe figure jumped through her window to land softly on her pink fluffy rug, the white ANBU mask was a familiar one. She glanced up at the brown locks that were twisted into two identical buns and tried to bite back a smile.

“Bear,” Sakura called.

The woman nods, her voice silky yet stern.

“Your services are needed,” The agent paused as if unsure how to continue, “Uchiha Sasuke has returned, and has overused his doujutsu –he’s refusing treatment.”

It was like the rug had been pulled out from under her.

“W-where is he now?”

“Hokage-sama’s dogs have tracked him to the memorial ground and has not been engaged, the nurse that clerked him before he ran off mentioned that he displayed mild confusion and agitation.”

Sakura could only nod, not able to comprehend fully what she was saying. Her legs worked on their own and moved towards her closet to grab one of her old lab coats, she shrugged it on and pulled at the hair that tucked itself under the collar. She moved to the drawer next to her bed, and two shot glasses appeared with an unmarked bottle.

The ANBU cocked her head as one of the glasses were placed into her gloved hand.

“Liquid courage.” Sakura said.

The ANBU lifted her mask to reveal deep brown eyes that twinkled with mirth.

“To courage,” Tenten agreed as she clinked the glass with the pink haired medic.

* * *

Something falters in her stomach as she approaches the cloaked figure that stood before the memorial stone. If she were a dishonest person, she would have said that it was the alcohol that lined her insides, but she wasn’t dishonest, and the twisting sensation that seized her had nothing to do with sake, but was actually a common ailment whenever she was in close proximity to Uchiha Sasuke.

Seven years should have been enough time to prepare her for this, and yet, when he turns to face the disturbance, she finds that her lungs forget how to execute their primary function. It’s his appearance, she supposes, that has left her rooted to the spot; the image she held for so long was that of a seventeen year old boy but the person in front of her was a fully-fledged man. His shoulders were wider, his hair longer, his face devoid of any roundness, and his eyes—

The man scowled and Sakura let out a sharp breath.

_There he was._

Sasuke showed no signs that he recognised her, and she was unsure if she should take this as a curse or a blessing in disguise. Deciding on the latter, her legs unrooted themselves and made their way to stand beside him, the first thing she noticed was the height difference. A frown marred her face as she craned her neck to look at him, she doesn’t remember him being this tall.

Recognition flickered across his features and the scowl eased, only to be replaced by a look of puzzlement, “Sakura?”

She swallowed at the three velvet syllables and answered carefully.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to take you home.”

He paused and thought for a moment, “Why?”

“You’re injured and I was told you were refusing help at the hospital.”

Sasuke grunted at this and turned to face the memorial stone.

She thought it would take a hell of a lot more convincing for him to relent, but unusually, a few moments passed before he fumbled with his cloak and heard the distinct jingle of keys. She wordlessly opened her palm and he placed the metal there.

“You’re still at your old apartment, right?”

He nodded his head.

“Do you remember the way?”

“No.”

“Are you okay with walking?”

“Are _you?_ ”

Sakura blinked dumbly at the question and followed his mismatched gaze to her choice of footwear, which to her mortification was absolutely nothing. Her painted toes wiggled in response and she had to refrain from punching the ground to swallow her whole.

“I-I’m fine.” She said through gritted teeth, arms crossed in defence. She turned briskly to make her way to his home, and to her surprise, even in his dubious state his feet were soundless in trailing behind. Her thumb sought the grooves of his keychain to distract her from the penetrating stare that bore into her back, she supposed that there was a strange sense of irony at work that he was the one watching her retreating form, and a small part of her hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time.

A particularly strong breeze whipped past her that made her desperately curl into her lab coat.

Now, _where_ was his place again?

* * *

Eventually, they both passed through his doorway and Sakura immediately went for the light switch, she gave it a flick, and then another, and when they were still surrounded by darkness by the third attempt she sighed and turned unhappily towards the broody man that moved seamlessly around the room checking for traps.

“You too huh?” She said dryly.

If he heard her, he did not attempt to correct her and continued to make his way around the apartment. She took this time to pad towards his kitchen to grab two glasses, filling them both to the brim with water, she took a quick sip and bristled at the ice-cold liquid that attacked her teeth. She used her hands in attempt to warm the glass, but it had proved futile. Minutes passed by before she gave up and treaded through his hall, she found him sitting quietly at the end of his bed, his black cloak removed and placed idly next to him, leaving him in loose black pants and a high-collared grey shirt.

Hesitantly, she walks towards his bedside and hands him a glass, “drink.”

He accepts the glass and lifts it to his lips, only to completely miss his mouth.

Her eyes grew wide as water splashed against his grey shirt and her lab coat, his coordination had room for improvement, she thought with a sputter. She grabbed the glass and placed it on his dresser.

“Okay, so maybe that was a bad idea.”

She was back at his side in an instant and her hands were clinical in the way they made quick work of the buttons that secured his soaked garb. Once free from the confines of his buttons—how did he even get this on?—she pushed the material off his shoulders, feeling a bulk of muscle there, and then past his arm and stump respectively before her fingers brushed the frayed edges of the Uchiha crest. She chewed her lip and folded the garment, placing it next to his black cloak.

She faced him, daring not to look any lower than his pronounced collar bone.

“Can I check your eyes?” She asked.

He was silent, but the slight spread of his legs gave the invitation she needed to move closer. She settled between them and brought a hand up to brush his black bangs away from his mismatched eyes, she focused on the green glow of her fingertips rather than the softness of his mane and got to work.

“I’m just going to run a diagnostic first,” she began, “and then I’ll see what I can do to relieve any discomfort.”

She stood there for nearly thirty minutes, her chakra rolling into him like steady waves, she spoke to him, her voice dispelling any awkward tension and detailed exactly what she had been up to whilst he’d been away, it’s for his own benefit she thinks, he wasn’t allowed to rest yet and she was sure that Sasuke was just as curious as to what has been going on—even if he would never admit it—and she’s aware that the words that bubbled from her mouth soon became inebriated babble, but Sasuke doesn’t seem to mind it.

Every now and then his hair would fall back onto his face, and dutifully she would comb it back into place, but it was after the fourth ministration that his eyes began to droop, and she drew in a deep breath.

“Hey,” she urged softly, “I need you to keep your eyes open.”

He scowled at her and shifted in his seat to get more comfortable.

His arm moved and her eyes were at the mercy of the dextrous hand that dipped below hard muscle and sinew to scratch at the taut skin that sat under his naval, his digits disturbing the dark trail of hairs that lead –

The light flickered, and he caught her gaze, black and purple clashed with dark viridian.

He simply raised an eyebrow.

“I’m just tired, leave me alone,” she quipped, her cheeks a pretty pink.

She allowed the glow to completely flicker out and leaned back to roll her tense shoulders, with a long drawn-out exhale, she lifted up her arms and stretched, the pop that followed gave instant relief to the ache that riddled her joints. It was well past midnight and she wasn’t lying; she _was_ tired, she yawned for extra measure as moonlight began to filter into his room and tint her skin with a pearlescent finish, carving highlights into her deceptively supple body. Her arms flopped to her sides and unbeknownst to her, the hasty movement made her lab coat part ways, revealing the crimson dress that clung to the curve of her pert breasts.

Her palms glowed a cool green, but before she could lean in any closer, his hand seized hers. Her pulse jumped beneath his fingertips, and she knows why, the sudden hammering beneath her ribcage says that Sasuke knows, too.

She was very awake now.

“What do you want Sakura?” He asked plainly.

The question was innocent enough, but the teeth that sank into her lip told her otherwise. There were many things she wanted, all of which she was nowhere near ready to delve into. “I want…” she paused and answered honestly, “to be your friend.”

He grunted at this and dragged himself up from the bed, making her take a slight stumble back. His bare chest brushed against her open lab coat and that is when she felt it.

Her eyes grew wide and looked up to see Sasuke’s mismatched gaze stare blankly at her.

“I think it’s time for you to go home,” he said.

_There’s no way._

“I-I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I have orders,”

The chuckle that left his lips was humourless, “Always by the book.”

She swallowed hard and the appendage twitched against her, with the most even voice she could muster she asked, “What do you want Sasuke?”

“I want you to stop talking.”

“Well _that’s_ never gonna happen,”

He hummed disapprovingly and the rumble caused a satisfying shiver to run down her body. Her eyes were trained on the lips that were moving but gathered too late that words were coming out. He was saying something, but she could not decipher it, he was impossibly close, and if the alcohol were not already doing strange things to her, his sheer proximity made it ten times worse. His breath fanned across her cheek and she could not tell if it was her face that was moving in or his.

“This is a bad idea,” she whispered weakly.

“Very bad idea,” she repeats as if he did not hear her the first time.

“Stop talking,” he rebuked as his hand ghosted the back of her neck, strands of pink coiling around his deft fingers.

He pressed his mouth firmly against her own and the gap finally closed, she sighed into his lips and threw an unbridled arm across his neck, deepening the kiss. Sakura did not know what she was getting herself into, but could only follow her instinct and his own physical queues, she pushed herself up onto her tiptoes and mewled against his lips as the hand that left her neck had found its way around her waist. She was acutely aware that she probably tasted of sake and cake, but that train of thought did not stop her from eagerly opening her mouth to welcome him in, Sasuke dragged his tongue against her own and the heat that pooled in her belly spiked as if she had been struck by lightning a second time.

They break apart for air and the sane chunk of her mind states that there is still time to run. This was a bad idea after all, he was confused, and she could still feel the buzz of alcohol billow through her veins. And, in spite of this when she thinks to move, she feels his nose bump against her own, coaxing her to look up into his eyes, and when she does the effect is immediate. A knot forms at the back of her throat that is impossible to swallow, she is treading water she realises, and she has to decide.

Sink or swim?

The decision was made the moment Sasuke swooped in for another kiss, tugging intently at the coat that covered her. With eagerness she did not know she possessed, she grasped the clothing from her shoulders and stripped it off, leaving her in the little red dress that Sasuke drank in.

He eased himself back onto the bed and dragged her with him, they both land with a soft thud on top of his comforter and neglected the dust that had been disturbed. She straddled his lap eagerly and gave an inquisitive roll against the hard length that poked against her dampened centre. He hissed as his good hand began to knead the soft flesh of her backside, bunching the fabric in his fingers. He latched onto the pulse point that rested on the column of her throat and sucked greedily. Her blood sang with such a rampant need that she threw her head back, his name tumbling from her lips in a way that made his hips buckle upwards. She was mad, clearly, and his faint little praises were not helping the situation. His kisses grew hungrier, her mouth, her collarbone, the underside of her jaw, he left nothing undiscovered and the heat that pooled in her belly began to solidify into a tight coil.

Was he aware that he was driving her _mad_?

She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled a choked breath, his hips jerk again, a daring demonstration, and it’s her turn to hiss. Her eyes slide open to glare at the devil himself, and she realises that he _is_ aware that he’s driving her mad, he’s smirking at her, and she’s about to give him a taste of her mind, but he devours her lips to silence her. She breathes his name in between strokes of his tongue, the coil in her winds tighter and the pitiful material that covered her centre is pushed to the side by his skilled fingers as he dips into wet heat to rub at her ache. Her breath hitches, her mouth falls open, and her hips jolt, a dangerous little shift. Eventually they meet each other’s heated gaze, and its then that she makes a bold move to grab him, her fingers reach clumsily for the appendage that was strained against his pants and pulls him out. Her chest is heaving as she holds him with upmost care, one hand is splayed across his taut abdomen, and the other is angling the tip of his length across her wet folds.

He asks if she’s okay, and she’s not, she’s mad. She can only nod at his husky enquiry; she’s well aware that she’s already gone past the point of return.

Her hips lower and they both let out a strangled breath as she slowly takes him in, inch by inch. She needs time to adjust, it’s her first time after all, her wet heat throbs around him in such a debilitating way that it appears to knock the sails out of him, and that gives her the opportunity to bury herself to the hilt. Her movements are slow and unsure at first, but gradually they become more urgent with need and the coil inside her is spinning rapidly out of control, she lifts her hips and sinks, and again, and again, and again, he grips her thigh as they’ve grasped a delicious rhythm and the tendrils of pleasure that ravage her body at every deep stroke makes her feel like she’s so, _so_

“Close?” He asks through clenched teeth.

She nods dazedly and she kisses him with such a raging longing that it scares her.

Her eyes slide shut as the pressure builds, she knows she’s arrived at the tipping point. The coil gives one last lurch before it pulls tight and snaps, his name dying in her throat. Her muscles clamp around his rigid length and milks him for everything he’s got, his thrusts are jagged as he spills into her, white spurts of fluid claiming her walls. Utterly spent she slumps against him before rolling off completely, the thundering against her ribcage does not cease and it forces her to take a deep breath as she stares blearily at the ceiling.

And its only when his soft snores filter through the empty space, that Sakura realises what she’s done.

* * *

A scent distracts him from his journey to Konoha’s east gate.

His hand seeks out the soft comfort of his companion and sighs. His mother always told him that one day his nose would get him into trouble, and he didn’t doubt it, he had always been a curious pup, and if three months of being on the graveyard shift taught him anything, it was that no one was up at two o’clock in the morning unless they were up to no good.

And he sets off to follow the trail because there is no way that ‘no good’ and ‘Haruno Sakura’ could possibly belong to the same sentence. It doesn’t take long to find her sitting alone on a bench and the scent is unmistakable: salt, sex, and sake.

The wind kicks up another smell and it makes him openly cringe, it was a smell he knew fairly well considering he was put on the recovery mission for this very person.

With this new information, he has every intention of just walking past, this wasn’t any of his business, he should have just kept his nose out, his mother was going to—

“Kiba.”

The dog master stiffened, he dared not turn around, he knew those fists of hers packed a pretty punch.

He heard the wiping of long dried tears and the rustle of her lab coat before she spoke again.

“Can I borrow your shower?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks for reading so far, it is very appreciated! I don't normally write chapters as long as this, but I thought the first chapter should come out with a bang, if you get my drift? ;smile;


	3. Chapter 2

The Valentine from Cloud Eight Point Nine

** Chapter 2 **

Sakura fails to drown out the incessant clacking of a keyboard to her right.

Fatigued and irritated, her eyes slide open to stare languidly at the window that was mounted behind the man who was talking to her, his drawl like a lullaby to her unwelcome ears. She had no intention of partaking in the conversation just yet, so she distracts herself by seeking out her appearance in the reflective glass, only to immediately smooth down several unkempt hairs that would no doubt detract from her withered image. It could always be worse, she supposes with an unsure shift, in her line of work there was no time to care for appearances – there were people dying. Besides growing out her hair due to sheer laziness and occasionally painting her toes an obscene colour, she never had the awareness of how she presented herself to others, and yet as she stood beneath the faulty bulbs of the Hokage tower that did her no favours on a _good_ day, she became acutely aware that she looked unwell, and the deceptively indifferent eyes that tracked her every movement told her the same tale.

It took a lot of effort running a hospital whilst simultaneously running from Uchiha Sasuke.

For _four_ whole weeks.

Feebly, she ran a hand through her hollow cheeks and drew an even breath. Dark circles sullied her dull green eyes and was the framework that hung unapologetically against the sickly hue of her once flushed skin. Another hair escapes her, and she dutifully tucks it back into her half-assed ponytail before balling her fist to rub tiredly at her lids. She was being rude, but the man in front of her doesn’t seem to mind. Decidedly sick of her own sickly appearance she tears her gaze away and begins to spin the buttons of her white coat, her ears perk up at the chatter of keys being punched and the conversation that began to escalate.

“Listen,” he says, “I’m happy to keep you full time at the hospital, but I’ll have to take you off active Jōnin duties if you don’t accept this mission – it’s been too long since you’ve been on the field and I can’t play favourites Sakura,”

“Of course you can,” she offers with ease, “you’re the _Hokage_.”

Kakashi takes off his wide-rimmed hat and places it on an ever-growing pile of papers, the stack nearly reaching chest level, his other hand seeks the dark fabric that hugged the bridge of his nose and pinched pointedly before answering. 

“Yes,”

“And my teacher,” she continues.

“Yes—”

“And my friend,”

His hand pauses over her file. “ _Yes_ , which is why these past –”

“Three months.” Shikamaru supplies to the right of her, his eyes never deviating from the computer screen.

“Three months,” he echoes, now scratching at the fabric that splayed across his jaw, “the roster guys have been extremely lenient and kept you on the payroll, even though you’ve not been on the field since May.” 

The corner of her mouth twitched.

“Your last mission was a complex A-rank,” he continues casually, his hand making a teetering motion, “so that normally gives you around two months leeway before you’re obliged to take on another mission, but definitely not three. And I know you’re not ballsy enough to stand there and insult my intelligence so tell me Sakura,” he leans back into his chair and levels her gaze, “what’s going on with you?”

Sakura concludes that she doesn’t like this Kakashi. Even though there was no paramount difference between this Kakashi and the Kakashi of moments ago, the air in the office has shifted to something palpable, his light tone possessed an edge and his indifferent gaze hid the slivers of scrutiny that blazed impossibly hot. It was a look normally reserved for Naruto, so she had long forgotten its heat and was ill-prepared to meet its full potency on a quaint Sunday afternoon, her designated day of rest. And so the teeth that chewed the inside of her cheek held enough pressure to pierce, the eyes that could not hold his stare long enough had found a remarkably interesting pattern on the floor. And yet, it was these disquieting moments that Hatake Kakashi was not her perverted old sensei that raided her pockets for cough sweets on cold winter mornings but was the reigning Rokudaime of Konoha, the strongest man in the village and someone _who knew something_.

“Sakura?”

With pink dusting her pallid cheeks, Sakura glances back at her teacher.

“Nothing’s going on,” she began carefully, “I’m just a bit behind with payments for my place and my parent’s so I’ve been taking extra shifts at the hospital to cover it.”

To her, it wasn’t dishonest if there was truth in it.

“And you know how the hospital is – it’s been nonstop, I guess I got too carried away and didn’t realise that it had been _that_ long since my last mission.”

Kakashi remained silent as she continued.

“I’m happy to take this mission,” she paused briefly to chew her lip, “I’m just concerned if I’m even the right person to do this, I’m sure you’ve noticed – but I’m not exactly in the best shape.”

He was quiet for a moment before his scrutiny melted into a familiar eye crinkle, he would neither confirm nor deny the allegation.

Her brow twitched regardless.

“Well, this is all pointless if you don’t even pass your physical,” he surmised, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stood from his chair, “downstairs should still be open for you to go get checked – how are they?”

“Huh?” She said distractedly as his cloak fluttered towards her.

“Your parents,”

“Oh, same old really, you’d think retirement would make them more chilled out, but nope, same old intensity…” Her voice trailing.

Begrudgingly, his gravity defying mane gave him a couple of cheated inches as he stood in front of her. She inclined her head and from this angle she could see the few wisps of silver stubble that poked through his mask, she could see the notorious eye crinkle that revealed the smallest suggestions of crow’s feet, and she could see the cloak that seamlessly rippled behind him carry the fresh smell of coffee, soap and…smoke? Her nose wrinkled at the thought.

“You stink sensei,”

“I’d say the same for you,”

She leaned in for a closer inspection. “ _And_ you need a shave,”

“I’d say the same…ah…you know what? Nevermind.”

She ignored him and jutted her chin towards the bearded clansman that was still typing away on his keyboard, “You’re around him too much,”

He clicked his tongue and gestured to his formal robes, “Surely it’s the other way around?”

It was impossible to stop the roll of her eyes, “Right, I’ve had enough of you today, I’m heading downstairs before they close,”

Stifling a yawn, she had every intention of turning to make her exit, but an unexpected hand clasping the curve of her shoulder stops her momentum.

She blinks at the contact and then at the white fabric that creased beneath his fingertips.

“Are you okay?” He asks seriously.

Sakura stares up at him, a loss at what to say. In her lifetime, she could count the times Kakashi initiated physical contact on Sasuke’s left arm, so it was understandable that it left her throat dry, her palms clammy and her nerves alarmingly frazzled. And as if following the sentiment, a handful of distressed hairs tumbled south to shield her from his sudden disquiet, the weight of which rendered her arms non-functional. With hands that mimicked dry cement blocks, she drew a quick breath and blew upwards, the force pushing the pink strands back into place, Kakashi’s hand, however, did not stray and remained warm and heavy against her. Sakura squared her gaze at him, the eyes that cast back were dark, curious, and incredibly, _incredibly_ patient. 

_He’s wants an answer._

At a loss at what to do, she rests her hand on top of his and gives his fingers a soft, yet awkward squeeze, and took a moment longer to ponder his question. In honesty, she feels…slightly off. In the same sense that the office is slightly too bright, and that the keyboard is slightly too loud, and that the look on her sensei is slightly too disarming.

“I-I’m fine,” she says finally, “just overworked, underpaid and incredibly thankful that I have a mission on top of it.”

His fingers flexed reassuringly. “Only if you pass your physical,”

“Only if I pass my physical,” she echoes back.

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he releases the grip on her shoulder and stalks back to his desk, “if by some miracle you pass, you’re going to need an escort,” he said absentmindedly.

Sakura nodded and suddenly a scroll with lightning speed was being launched at her head, with relative ease, albeit a little delayed, she caught the sealed paper between her forefinger and thumb before it could brush up against the diamond marking on her forehead.

Her hand dropped and Kakashi raised a brow, “Maybe you are fine.”

“Who will be my escort?”

“Ah well,” he paused briefly, “I’ve actually asked Sasuke—”

Her pulse leaped. “No.”

“No?”

She raised the mission scroll and wiggled it between her fingers, forcing nonchalance to coat her tongue, “this is what? A B-rank, right? It’s a waste of resources to use someone like him for something so trivial, if this mission had nothing pertaining to medicine it would be trivial for _me_.”

He was quiet for a moment, as if weighing her words and eventually hummed in agreement, his fingers scratching at his jaw.

“How odd.”

“What?”

“He had the same reaction to escorting you.”

She stilled as realisation sank in. He _did_ know something, “What do you know?”

“Nothing that you’re ready to delve into,” he says almost boredly, “my dogs are the most loyal of summons, and are exceptionally good at keeping secrets, maybe consider drawing up a contract with them instead of slugs?”

His knowing eye crinkle was the nail in the coffin as she clasped her mouth to stop the spread of scandal to surface from her cheeks. A vague ringing reaches her ears, and when she hones in on the sound, her mind is briefly transported to a time where falling for genjutsu and mind games came just as easy as falling for Uchiha Sasuke – all thanks to the man that sat coolly before her – and it’s terrible, she thinks, how he’s not the only one to make her feel like a snivelling twelve year old. She was susceptible back then, but not now, never again. 

Her embarrassment was fleeting and hastily replaced with burning ire, her downward gaze locked on to an intricate floor pattern that became an acceptable deterrent from throwing herself over his desk to wring his meddlesome neck. Uncurling her fist, she slowly counted to three and bowed politely, “thank you for your advice Hokage-sama, I think I’ll take my leave now.” 

She backed off and exited quickly.

The office was silent, the tapping of keys ceased.

“Do I need to know?” Shikamaru asks eventually, his eyes glancing at the hairline cracks that adorned the door with upmost subtlety.

Kakashi lifts his wide-rimmed hat from the stack of papers and fits it back onto his head, he reaches for a pen; only pausing when he fails to grasp the top sheet.

“No,” he told him shortly, wetting his fingertips, “you don’t.”

* * *

The waiting room is over-populated with shinobi as she patrols the chalky space, no vacant seat in sight. In no time at all she makes it to her fourth lap of the vicinity and abruptly stops to wait for her mind to catch up from the rattling exchange with Kakashi. Her secret should not make her feel so unguarded, but it does – it was only a matter of time before someone found out, best it be with someone she begrudgingly trusts. And despite everything, Kakashi _can_ be trusted with this. Before that fateful evening Sakura had always been by the book, always the professional, she had always worn her doctors coat as if it were a prestigious mark of honour. But shame was a funny thing, it was a tear in the pristine fabric, it only took a split for someone to strike over and over again for there to be nothing left but shreds of hopeless sentimentality.

The noise of a speaker turning on was a welcome break in her thoughts, a number that was not her own was called and with an exasperated sigh, Sakura presses her eyes shut with the heel of her palm. Instead of the desired nothingness she sought, she is bombarded with the burning image of a hand plunged between her slick thighs, a dirty promise being whispered against the column of her throat, and an aching length being pounded into her as she came apart.

Her eyes flew open and cursed.

A subsequent tap on her shoulder makes her start, her spine snapping taut. She cranes her neck to only find Sai withdrawing his long, pale fingers and sags immediately. His lips pull into a small smile that did not reach the inky depths of his eyes.

“Ugly, you’re looking as beautiful as ever.”

She slumped against the wall and ran a hand through her wan face, careful not to crumple her assessment number. “Fuck you.”

His smile did not falter. “Are you here for a physical?”

“Yeah, you too?”

“Yes, but I have just finished, I’ll be leaving tonight so I am unable to join you and Beautiful for dinner later.”

Sakura licked her lips and nodded her head apologetically, “I’m probably in the same boat as you, but I’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow.”

“I will make sure to let her know you won’t be joining either.”

Brazenly, her eyes swept over his pale form, a question nagging at the forefront of her brain. “So you’ve finally made-up with Ino-pig?”

“Yes, Ugly. We had lots of sex.”

Sakura’s cheeks burned. “Why were you guys fighting in the first place?”

And for the briefest moment, Sai’s face contorts into something unfamiliar – it was the closest thing to witnessing ceramic crack.

“She had been drinking excessively and was grinding on Genma-san, I did not like that,” he relays blandly, “she said it’s customary for the birthday boy to have a birthday dance, so when I went in between them to also have this customary dance, I had to scarcely avoid a senbon aimed at my throat – I would have liked the nights events to have ended differently, but I was pleased with the result and would do the same thing again if it meant Beautiful would solely focus on me – she said I was being too possessive, I really did not like that.” 

Sakura snickered into her hand and shifted her weight so she was not leaning on the wall, “you can’t blame her for drinking so much, it was the first night we both had off in forever, and sake tastes that much sweeter when you don’t know the next time you can let loose y’know?”

He pondered her words for a moment and then nodded carefully, “I think I understand.”

They shared a comfortable silence as Sakura distractedly ran her fingers over her appointment card. Sai blinked at her.

“Did you?” He asked suddenly.

Her finger paused over the edge of the flimsy plastic; her eyes curious.

“Did I what?”

“Let loose,”

“Oh, obviously! How can you _not_ with free sake?” She teased with a tired grin.

His smile was pleasant. “No, I meant let loose with the traitor—!”

Her lab coat flew behind her as she launched herself at the ex-Root member, trapping him into a headlock, her other hand was quick to smother his incriminating lips, and the card that was tucked beneath her thumb now sat dangerously close to his eye.

“Finish that sentence and I’m —” The loud crackle of a speaker drowned out her remaining threat.

They both glanced up at the black box that was mounted on the wall.

_“Number 12, please report to room 5, Number 12, please report to room 5, thank you.”_

Sai muffled something and Sakura released his mouth, he took a gulp of air before he cocked his head to point at the card that nearly maimed him.

“That’s you,” he said.

She released the rest of him with a curse and smoothed the creases out of her white coat. Her brows pulled into a tight line as she began to stalk away from him, “we’re talking about your manners after I’m done!”

“Ugly, I cannot stay any longer – I have a mission to get ready for.” He called out.

“After _that_ then!”

She furiously rubbed her neck to alleviate the flush that dusted across her skin as Sai left her field of view. She reached the assigned door and knocked twice before pushing through the heavy entryway, thankful for the blast of cold air that swept across her clammy back. With no one there to greet her, she simply made her way to examination table and dutifully sat on top of the crunchy blue paper that engulfed the firm exterior, she lifted her hips to squash her hands as a deterrent from fidgeting.

The nurse enters shortly after, brunette and burly and seemingly too invested in the handful of papers to acknowledge her presence. A moment passes and Sakura clears her throat, to which the nurse replies with a grunt of her own. Long ago, Tsunade had drilled it into all aspiring medics that before delivering any kind of care it was fundamental to introduce yourself, it built the basic foundations of trust between patient and carer. Sakura had been called many things, but never a snitch, she minded her own business and expected the same respect from others. But today was different, people were in her business, uncomfortably so, it was only fair to give a little back. Right?

Besides, anything pertaining to a medics training _was_ her business, this was the one field you can’t be babied in. 

With little deliberation, she waits for the nurse to turn around. Her gaze locks onto the name that was perched crookedly on the breast of her uniform and Sakura’s lips pull into a small smile, triumphant.

_Funny._

She was named after the child of spring.

* * *

He is the picture of stillness as the bleary image in front of him fades into clarity, inevitability.

And he opens his door wider, the silent invitation there for her to take and she _declines_ , and it’s enough to make his temper flare. He balls his fist into his pyjama pants; heavy rain pelting perpetually over his rooftop as he feels a lump form at the back of his throat – he’s unsure why the rejection feels cutting. She had been avoiding him since returning to the village, that much was certain, he suspected weeks ago that she had no plans of making an appearance since their little incident – even for his birthday – which he had long written off. It was amongst the remnants of team seven who celebrated another year closer to his demise that it occurred to him that perhaps the distinct lack of pink and antiseptic was his doing.

“I-I can’t stay long.” She explains.

So he stares at her, specifically at the rain that left her coat drenched and her strands sodden, and then shifts to the droplets that clung to the curve of her clumped lashes. Her normally bright eyes were red-rimmed and lacklustre – her hair stuck stubbornly to the sides of her wet cheeks and the full lips that he devoured four weeks prior were parted to draw quick, uneven breaths. Something troubled her, clearly, and seeking him out in the middle of night suggested the same story.

“What are you doing here?”

“I-I’m…” she tries, her voice small.

There’s something routine in the way Sakura curls into her white uniform, and although not fully versed on the medic’s perpetual habits – it being seven years after all, the one particular tic that unravelled before him was something he memorised since their cloudy encounter. He watched on as her spine curved into a stiff arc, then continued on to trail the arms that drew inwards to fold themselves underneath a shivering chest, and his inspection concludes at the fingertips that rubbed clockwise circles into the frayed seams of her coat. But what he didn’t account for were the eyes that desperately averted his own, and the mouth that twisted into a thin, quivering line.

The movement is miniscule, but his head cocks all the same; the rain is falling heavier now, the cogs between his ears match the pace of the drumming against his rooftop as he translates the planes of her shifting face.

The cog stops.

Regret, he realises. But no, there’s more. There’s _shame_.

And the comprehension takes only a second, it cements itself deep into his gut. The incident to her disappearance; the context to her reappearance, her folded arms, her averted gaze, her hasty retreat into her coat.

“I’m…I-I’m,” she began, her eyes snapped to his own.

He leans against his doorframe and Sakura’s lips tremble.

“I’m…” she tries again, her voice cracking. “I’m so stupid!”

“And I’m so sorry.”

Her mouth presses firmly together as she tears her gaze away. “That night when we—” she sucks in a breath before continuing. “—I shouldn’t have done what I—”

“We,” he interjects.

“ _We_ did, you were unwell, and I had been drinking, and I’m s-sorry. It should never have happened.”

His phantom limb itches to slam the door shut.

“And this couldn’t wait?”

“It couldn’t wait,” she tries to explain, “I’m…p-preparing for a mission tomorrow—well, today if we’re being technical. Sorry I know it’s late – but I had to speak to you, it wasn’t right to leave with things so… _fucked_.”

“Sakura,” he began, “we’re both adults—"

“I know but –“

“Get over it,” he ground out, his temper lost.

Rain slips down her cheeks as she glances up at him, strained, and he looks away. He gestures his head towards the hallway of his complex and grunts at the unrelenting storm, she’d most likely have to travel in these conditions until she reaches Whirlpool – far from ideal, he thinks. Without a doubt, she’d have to make up for the lost time, and guessed that she would leave earlier than intended, a few hours from now perhaps, she’d require rest if she were to arrive on time. Had she even slept? He angles his face back towards her and studies the dark circles that surprisingly resembled his own, he caught the unclenching of her jaw and his eyes became trained on the tongue that darted out to wet parted lips. She let out a shaky breath, her voice quiet. “That’s why you refused to be my escort? Because you’re over it?”

He didn’t like where this was going.

“I refused because it’s not suited for me,” he says, a strange taste in his mouth. “I didn’t want to entertain Kakashi’s motive either, so I declined. There’s no other reason.” He supposes this answer was enough to steer the conversation to less personal territory, she _nearly_ hit the mark with her probing, clever woman – if only. He takes her silence as an opportunity to bring himself upright, away from the doorframe, and could only stare as she mirrored his movement.

“Don’t you need to leave soon?”

There is a long pause before she visibly deflates. “…Yeah,” another pregnant pause, “you’re right – I should get going.”

She doesn’t move.

“Sasuke-kun?”

He inclines his head, prompting her to continue.

“When I get back, we need to talk.”

She was right. “We do.”

“ _Properly_ – things have changed, whether you like it or not.” He blinks away his momentary confusion and contemplates her words. She had a point – things _had_ changed, but for whatever reason the cement in his stomach tells him that she’s skirting around a subject that is different all together.

He wants to listen further, but the sudden noise of her hands clasping together snaps him from his thoughts.

“Now that’s out the way – you wouldn’t happen to own an umbrella, would you?” She attempts a smile, but the cracks in her mask are clearer than before, she had always been a terrible liar. He shakes his head and her lips purse into a small pout.

“Well I guess it can’t be helped,” she shrugs off her doctors’ coat and swings it over her head, he follows the movement, but a mark catches his regard.

The inside of her upper arm is marred with stains of red and purple, blood that pooled beneath the surface of her pale flesh appeared to be fresh and full of oxygen and his jaw clenches at the sight. A crude cut, no longer than a senbon needle, is surrounded by bruising tissue and it’s enough to raise the question. He steps forward a fraction, his stump spasming to bring her in close, but something roots him to the spot.

No, he thought wearily, his touch would not be welcomed.

“Something wrong?” She says, as if sensing the shift.

“You’re injured.”

Her head shoots down to the limb in question and gasps. “Oh!” Her good arm releases the lapels of her coat that hugged her face and brought a glowing fingertip over the mark, “It’s n-nothing, I’m fine – did some training and didn’t have the chakra at the time to heal it. See? All gone.”

He peers at the smooth skin that was left behind and grunted. “You levelled training ground six this afternoon.”

“How did you know?”

“It’s the ground I frequent most.”

She presses her lips together, a non-committal noise bubbles from her throat.

“But that,” he glances at the newly unblemished arm, “didn’t come from a training ground.”

Sakura manages a look that drifts between surprise and mortification, there was no coat to curl into this time. “Well, uh—no, it didn’t. It’s, um.” She swallows quickly, her fingers tightening on the garment that was draped over her head. “Nothing men need to worry about.” 

He opens his mouth to say that he _wasn’t_ worried, but the scuffling of heavy boots dragging across the fire exit grabs both their attention, his brows pull together and Sakura breathes a sigh of— _relief?_

“I think that’s my cue to head out – else your neighbours will think we’re up to no good.” 

There’s an arbitrary comment about how it wasn’t their first time that hangs crudely on his tongue – the retort, however, dies just as quickly as it comes, and he briefly wonders if things will ever be the same. An uncomfortable sensation worms its way into him, settling beneath his ribs – how long would it take for their strained silence to grow familiar once more, weeks? Months? _Years?_

“Until next time?” She offers with a wave.

The hand in his pocket stiffens.

“Until next time,” he replies gruffly, and his stump thrums.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Apologies for the long delay with getting this one out - I work in one of the biggest hospitals in London and the pandemic is definitely kicking our butts! Please be safe everyone - I can't say for certain when the next chapter will be out, but it will get there eventually. 
> 
> I heard its SasuSaku canonversary today - how fitting! Enjoy ~
> 
> \- BQ


	4. Chapter 3

The Valentine from Cloud Eight Point Nine

** Chapter 3 **

“You’re awake.” He says.

She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know that he was staring. It appears that even in this strange world, Sasuke’s gaze is transcendent, weighted, as if the briefest glance could ground her to the spot. Her right side tingles with anticipation, small goosebumps hiking up her arms and neck, and is stumped on whether she should continue to feign sleep or have a go at subduing him with the drip that was supplying her with fluids. He’d just need to move closer, she thinks, perhaps to grab her shoulders or to press a hand into her flush cheek – just a little closer and she’d use the element of surprise to swing her legs over the metal bars and drive him into the floor, a little closer and she’d pin his arms between her steely thighs and straddle his stomach. At full application she’d only need ten seconds before he’d –

“Whatever great escape you’re planning – you can stop. I’m just a clone.”

Her brain falters at the information and cracks open an eye. She finds a mop of black stretched out on a wooden chair in the corner, long legs crossing comfortably with half his face peering over a newspaper to look at her.

“There’s also an armed guard outside if you need any further incentives.” He supplies as an afterthought, his gaze returning to the paper.

Sakura takes the time to scan the room, the space void of any other people and sniffs the air around her. The familiar scent of antiseptic fills her nose – her eyes eventually settle on a clock that was hanging above a painted door. 

_08:47._

Way too early to be dealing with this other worldly problem.

“Where’s Sid?” She manages to croak out, her tongue like cotton.

For a moment, he stares through the paper, as if not knowing who she was referring to. “The smuggler?” He muses civilly, pausing briefly to turn a page. “Halfway to Suna I’d assume.”

To her, it was inevitable that ‘Sandy Sid’s’ luck would run out, but that doesn’t seem to quell the swell of guilt that wracks her body like a flood. The infamous iron-sand smuggler had been seized because of her, not because of some thrilling larceny or some kind of underground heist she’d read in one of Jiraiya’s books, but because of her – all pink and overly underwhelming. She could only hope that in this unfamiliar world, his punishment would be lenient. And if not…well, she didn’t dare think.

She rubs at her lids, dispelling any imagery of her criminal companion in unfavourable circumstances and asks, “where am I?”

“At the hospital, we’re in Konoha.”

_Konoha…Konoha!_

Realisation swirls in her stomach and she begins to sit up on her elbows, a shooting pain laps at the front of her skull, making her pause to cradle her throbbing forehead. “Shit…”

“How are you feeling?”

She’s unsure if she has the vocabulary to scratch the surface of the loaded question and sucks in a tentative breath, her arms drop back into her lap and focuses on her immediate state, the reply is an honest one. “Besides the splitting headache? Quite hungry.”

The clone supplies an understanding grunt. “There’s some toast to your right,”

On instinct, she bristles at the thoughtful offer – so there was. Her eyes dart to a small plate that rested on a tray next to her bedside, her fingers reach out for a pre-cut slice, careful not to disturb the drip and brings it to her eager mouth. She glances back at the doppelganger that occupied the uncomfortable hospital seat and tries to catch the words etched on the front page that had his attention, he was sat too far for her to comprehend the headline, let alone the date or any sort of useful information. _Give me something!_ Her lips purse simultaneously as her brow furrows and leans back into the firm pillows in thought.

“How’s the jaw?” She asks nonchalantly, her teeth tearing into a piece of cold toast.

There’s a long pause, enough to make her think he hadn’t heard her. She hears a scoff before the newspaper lowers enough for his full face to be open to her scrutiny, silently, dark eyes lock onto her own before he tilts his chin up, exposing the long expanse of his throat and underside of his jaw, her eyes flicker to the colours that littered the skin —purples and greens mar the surface, and it’s borderline unfair, she thinks, even with the crude mark he was just as devastatingly handsome.

“You tell me,” he cuts in smoothly.

So she swallows, ignoring the slight bob of his adam’s apple, and blinks at the colours once more, looking at it she deduces that she had been here a few days.

“It suits you,” she replies tersely, almost forgetting that he was asking a question.

He laughs at her. _Laughs_ and Sakura is dumbfounded by the sound, it’s gruff and short and very _him_.

He tilts his chin back down but refrains from returning to the newspaper, he looks at her, dark eyes unblinking.

Her teeth tear into another piece of toast. “You’re staring,”

“I am,”

“Why?” She grits out through a mouthful of food, annoyed at his gall.

“I didn’t realise we were so familiar in the academy,” he cocks his head, “‘ _Sasuke-kun?’_ – it was borderline simpering.”

A heat creeps up her neck at the memory as she continues to chew her toast, there was nothing to be said back, she did not know this man.

“It’s a little disappointing,” he continues, “the leads we had on you suggested your involvement with the rebel cause and yet by accident, you’re found serving tea in a civilian village, with civilian colleagues, with civilian chakra levels – if you wanted such a lifestyle, there was plenty of tea houses in Konoha for you to work in, why become a renegade?”

_Civilian? Renegade?_

“I told you I’m not who you think I am,” she says evasively, swiping away at the crumbs that fell on her front.

“That didn’t answer my question,”

“I know,”

“Well?”

“Are you a part of I&T? You should know you can’t interrogate me, not with my current…circumstances,” this time she tears off the crust of her toast before popping it into her mouth.

With a drawn-out sigh, he folds the newspaper and sets it on the armrest.

“Which is why you’ll be on village arrest until your circumstances have _changed._ ”

The implication is laid bare, and now — unlike her appetite, is not lost. She quickly drops the remnants of her meal onto the plate next to her bedside and pushes the tray as far as it could go – he doesn’t need to press further because her mind is already spinning into overdrive. A beat passes before she mumbles out, “I need to walk,” and rips the hospital blanket away, her legs swinging over the metal bars.

The clone nearly jumps out of his seat to apprehend her, but she lifts a hand.

“Please, I just need to walk.” _And think,_ she nearly says.

Her bare feet are about to make contact with the floor, but a crudely wrapped foot grabs her attention.

It was definitely not handled by a trained medic.

Her eyes narrow in suspicion, “this you?” She taps her leg for emphasis.

The clone shrugs.

“You should’ve started at the ball of the foot at a 90-degree angle, _then_ circle your way around the arch, not the other way round,” she says. There’s a small sense of comfort as the teachings barrel easily off her tongue whilst she gives her ankle an experimental roll. She grabs the pole of her drip to steady herself and stands as tall as her five feet and four inches could allow. The pale hospital gown swallows her form and drowns out her complexion and has to shake off a few more pesky crumbs from the material before treading towards the only natural light source in the room – the window.

“You should’ve put one foot in front of the other in the first place.” He replies.

She ignores him and wheels the drip along with her until she’s by the wall, her fingers extend to the semi-closed blind, tugging its string taut.

Sakura wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she looked outside. But as if taken over, her fingers splay across the cool surface of the window, her palms flat against the pane, her eyes blowing wide at the sight before her.

“Not how you remember it?” The clone asks from behind.

“You could say that…” she breathes out, her face pressing into the glass.

Even through the morning fog, it was clear that this was not a village she stumbled into, it was a metropolis. Tall, sturdy buildings — taller than she could ever imagine were dotted along the almost endless landscape. The grandiose shapes were such a jarring image against the sheer abundance of native trees and shrubbery that she has to blink away the oddity of it. Her gaze flickers down to the winding streets – she must have been at least four floors up – to see fast-moving bodies, residents rushing towards their destinations with freshly brewed coffees in one hand and breakfasts-on-the-go in the other as they move along. She’d never seen Konoha so busy and _new._

She nearly gives up at finding any sense of normality until her gaze falls on the Hokage monument in the distance, all carved in the same brown granite she remembers. Her heart flutters at the recognisable shapes of the Shodaime, the Nindaime, the Sandaime, the Yondaime, and finally lets out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding when she prepares herself to meet the next face, knowing she will not find her beloved shishou. The warmth of the sudden exhale forces the cold glass to blur against her will, blocking her view. She quickly brings the heel of her palm to swipe vigorously at the stubborn vapour, the contact mimicking a high-pitch squeak that filters through the dreary room.

And if there was a puff of smoke behind her, she did not hear it. A firm tap on her shoulder makes her jump, and whirls around to find the real—as can be—Sasuke with a pile of folded clothes that he promptly shoves into her chest. Startled, she quickly lifts a thigh to catch the falling garments and curls her free arm underneath her breast, the curse that tumbles from her lips is both loud and colourful. 

“We need to leave soon,” he says simply, eyeing the now empty drip that was connected to her.

He was dressed similarly to how he found her in Yugakure. Green vest and comfortable black pants, the Uchiha symbol stitched neatly on the arm of his long shirt. She notes that his hitai-ate was missing from his forehead, perhaps he was off-duty.

Her eyes narrow, “and where am I to go?”

“Your assignment,”

“My assignment?” She echoes.

He rakes a hand through his raven locks. “You think we’d throw you in a cell, enjoying free meals and a warm bed until you pop one out?” He asks impatiently before his voice lowers a fraction, “you earn your keep here that’s the way it’s always been.”

She nods, although not understanding his point. “Where is my assignment?”

“I’m taking you to a family who lives in old town, you’re to work in their household until you have served your purpose, you will be safe there.”

Several questions lie on the tip of her tongue, but Sasuke beats her to it with a question of his own.

“Where do you want this?” He says, waving a square patch of paper in front of her. She leans in for closer inspection, the kanji scrawled on it is dark and thick, but she could make out one word: Ward. It was a seal, she deduces, and he means to stick it on her person.

Her lips curl into a snarl, “what’s this?”

“It’s a precaution if you try to leave – it won’t affect your child if that concerns you.”

“And what does it do?” She prods.

“Upon breaching Konoha’s borders it will send a numbing agent to immobilise you,” he relays flatly, as if he has had this conversation many times before, “it will also notify me of your location so you can be retrieved.”

If he thinks a mere numbing agent could immobilise her, he thought wrong. Being the disciple of Tsunade and peer to Shizune – her biology had gone through numerous changes to become resistant to most poisons and agents, and if she were to escape, her body would have burned through the toxins well before he could find her. He did not know this, of course, but she did – and it was risky to assume that she’d be immune to whatever lay dormant in his other-worldly hands, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

“We can do this the hard way if you prefer.” He offers in the same flat tone.

She grits her teeth; the challenge perishing in her eyes and decides to play along.

Deliberately, she turns away from him to face the window and brings her free arm to sweep the long pink tresses off of her back, her hair spilling over one shoulder to rest against the clothes that were still in her clutches. She angles her head downwards, revealing her bare nape and sucks in a quick breath when cool fingers brush against her flesh. She tries not to squirm as the paper is laid flat against the surface of her neck – he’s being methodical about it, she knows this, but that doesn’t stop the spread of warmth that flares above her clavicle.

“Can you hurry up?” She hisses out.

“Quiet.”

Her teeth sink into her lip and takes a patient breath, her nose flaring and stomach rolling. One digit, two, three – she could feel the surge of his chakra being brought forward to his fingertips – four, five. _There!_ He removes his fingers and she’s quick to recoil from him, sweeping her hair back into place. She turns and clumsily removes the empty drip that was connected to her, creating as much distance as she can from him.

Her voice is rushed. “Bathroom’s there right?” She says, avoiding his stare. “I won’t be long.”

She doesn’t wait for a reply and pads hurriedly to the new space, slamming the door behind her.

The clothes are thrown onto the ground at the same time as her hands fly towards the toilet seat, her knees crashing into the hard floor, she lifts the lid and retches into the bowl, the contents of her breakfast splashing against the pristine ceramic. She begins to claw at the hair that got caught between the seat and cover and once detangled, raises a chin to finally wipe at her mouth.

As far as she’s concerned, the body’s response to pregnancy is both inadequate and irksome, only serving as tangible proof that she was on a time crunch. She had high hopes for Whirlpool, it had been a plan after all, not a particularly good one, but it was the one place that her mind drew the most blanks and could pose a solution to her predicament – for one of them at least.

She forces a swallow as her stomach gives another lurch.

She knows that she was sent to the ruins of Naruto’s ancestral home, she knows she gave medical aid to the archaeologists, she knows the nature of their work, she knows she was found by fisherman in the land of hot water, she knows she woke with a concussion, she knows she can’t use her chakra, she knows Sasuke-with-two-arms thinks her civilian, she knows she needs to find a way to get home, she knows she needs to do this before she’s unable to see her own toes and she knows that she’s stumbled into something that she needs to stumble out of.

Two knocks rap at the bathroom door. “Hurry up, Haruno.”

Her stomach lurches again and she heaves into the bowl, remnants of food long gone, bile lining the white ceramic. Was time different here? Was anyone looking for her? Was her chakra gone for good? Can she get home? Can she do it _alone_? Is this the path she must take?

She feels a presence behind her, not hearing him enter as her head’s firmly inside the toilet. There’s a short pause before she feels rough fingers thread her scalp. 

“I don’t need your help,” she rasps out, her voice muffled.

He gathers her hair into his fist, pulling it back.

She tries to elbow him, but her limbs are rigidly clutching the seat in readiness. Tears spring to her eyes as another wave of nausea hits, “I said I don’t need your –,” she manages before retching.

“Aa,” he agrees, gathering more strands of pink.

He’s there until she finishes.

The room is silent apart from the tiny breaths and gags she tries to squash. Eventually the hold on the seat loosens and her muscles relax, the foreign fingers disappear from her hair, the weight of her crown lolling back into the junction of her elbow. Out of the corner of her eye she see’s a large black shirt being picked up.

She’s too tired to argue.

“Arms up,” he instructs quickly.

There’s a small protest before she reluctantly lifts her arms, the shirt is immediately hauled over her head and gown, the soft fabric dancing over the flesh of her arms as he mechanically pulls her limbs through the gaps.

“Can you stand on your own?” He asks, grabbing the inside of her elbow to help her up.

“I’m fine.”

He releases her and she immediately reaches over to flush the toilet before bending over to quickly swipe the pants that were discarded on the floor, she ignores the slight sway in her step and the small dots that flew across her vision as she tugs them on, tucking her hospital gown into the waistband.

Once done, his eyes roam over her form and nods to himself, a flask of water appears from behind him. “Rehydrate and finish up, we need to leave.”

He hands her the bottle and she’s quick to flip the cap to gulp down its contents. Sakura watches him through her lashes reclasp the pouch and turn his body towards the doorway, in two short strides his fingers are ready to grasp the round handle, but a voice he doesn’t quite catch stops him in his tracks.

“What’s that?” He asks with a small frown.

“I said,” she says, wiping at her mouth. “Thank you.”

* * *

The ward clerk eyes them both with interest.

“Here are the discharge papers, please read them over – we’d need both patient and guardian to fill out the blanks and sign.” The clerk says keenly, scooting the documents across.

Sasuke nods, looking over the details. “Got a pen?”

“Several,” the clerk relents with a sheepish grin, slamming three pens on the desk, “they might not all work though.”

He sighs, grasping the first pen that rolled towards him and began filling out the necessary information, he hears the distinct jingle of handcuffs coming from behind to settle by his side.

“You’re right-handed?” Sakura says, scratching at her nose, the metal clanging.

He doesn’t look up from the paper, his pen making strong strokes. “I can use both,” he caps the pen and takes another, glaring at the clerk who was now sipping leisurely at a cup of coffee. “I learned to use both.” He corrects curtly.

She hums and eyes the document he was scrawling on; he was currently filling out her place of residence, the ink bleeding through the pages in a way that made his penmanship look messy. She cocks her head at the words written, dumbstruck at the familiarity, she half-expected to be sent so some kind of hellhole.

“You’re sending me to the Uchiha compound?”

“ _Former_ compound,” he corrects calmly, his hand unwavering. “The people who live there are there by choice.”

“Do you live there?” She asks.

“No.”

“Where do you live?”

The corner of his mouth pulls downwards, he turns to her, pushing the document in her direction. “Where did you go after you defected Konoha again?”

She clicks her tongue, a small blush dusting her cheeks. “Whatever,” and grabs the pen from his fingers.

It seems that this Sasuke has also inherited the irksome ability to shut down idle chatter – _intel gathering_ – she tells herself. Sakura rolls her thumb and forefinger between the pen, her eyes fixating on the slight curl of the page that was undoubtedly caused by spilt liquids, she notes that the date on the document correlates to her own worlds; thankful that at least one question had been answered. A sigh escapes her lips, this is why she’d always rely on Ino to keep up with small talk; she had a certain tenacious tact that she lacked.

“So…I’m going to be helping your family then?” She tries again with a light tone, her pen making scratching noises as she inks her name without premise.

He rolls his shoulders and hands the paperwork back to clerk.

“You could say that,” he supplies unhelpfully, tapping his fingers against the desk. They patiently wait for the clerk to finish their battle with the photocopier.

“What kind of work do they need from me?”

“I don’t know,” he tells her, finally accepting the discharge papers before slipping it inside his green vest. “Let’s get going.” He thanks the clerk and nods towards the armed guard.

She follows him diligently out of the hospital and onto the busy streets of Konoha, avoiding the warm bodies that would unintentionally brush past her. Instinctively she pulls at the long sleeves of the black shirt to somewhat cover the cool metal that bound her sore wrists. Sakura lets out a huff, an uncomfortable feeling creeping up her pulse.

“Were these really necessary?” She mumbles to herself.

“It’s protocol,” pipes up the guard, matching her pace, his voice low and dutiful. “Once you’ve been escorted we’ll take them off and be out of your hair, Haruno.”

“And I’ll be out of yours I’m sure.” She replies dryly, her gaze sweeping over the high ponytail that had been styled into two horns – he must be a Nara, the symbol hanging from his neck made her certain of it.

The guard resists a grin and scratches at his peppery goatee, “you’re not wrong there.”

They walk further into twisting streets of her alien home and she tries to drown out the whispers that began to follow her with each step of the stone pavement. She convinces herself that its because of the odd colouring of her hair or the odd gait she had gained thanks to her ankle, and not because of the company she kept, nor the handcuffs that were hidden underneath her shirt so well. And yet, as if sensing her unease, the guard slings his sword over his shoulder and snaps it to the holder on his back, the resounding click earns a scoff from Sasuke. Ignoring him, the guard adjusts the strap before jutting a thumb to his sheathed weapon, “you’re not going to cause any trouble are you?”

Her head shakes. “I prefer a fist fight anyway,” she says, her lips curving at the kind gesture.

This time the guard grins. “So I’ve heard.” 

They continue on, their feet now crackling under loose gravel, the path they turn into sets off a familiar image. “Are we close to the Uchiha compound?” She asks conversationally.

“Former compound,” the guard corrects, “and yes, we’ve just entered Old Town.”

Her brows furrow. “My discharge paper mentions ‘old town’ – what is that?”

“Some call it Old Town, some call it Little Konoha, it depends on whose asking – you probably know it as just plain old Konoha, if you’ve been gone – what? Close to sixteen years, right?” He doesn’t see her mouth gape open and lets out a low whistle, “as you can see, the Konoha you knew has expanded.”

“How did –“

“Nara. Haruno. Enough with the gossip.” Sasuke cuts in calmly.

He takes them towards the end of the street, dodging the puddles that had been left from the from the night before and reaches a small wooden gate.

She halts briefly, her ears perking up at the sound of the guard blowing an impressive whistle, she draws up beside Sasuke and is able to see what had stirred the guard so. The path leads them to a large house – no, _mansion_ – surrounded by lush gardens and quaint ponds that looked idyllic against the humble cream tones that coloured the house, the front was littered with large bay windows that had flower boxes lining its base. “Definitely not a hellhole,” she seems to mutter out loud. There’s a small chuckle and the guard lopes past her to climb the steps, knocking at the door.

Sasuke grabs her attention by seizing her wrist in a way that transports her mind to a dark room, dusty sheets, and a dark man asking an innocent question between spread legs. She bites the inside of her cheek and with a swift click, the weight of the metal lifts. Centring herself, and removing her mind from _that_ , she closes her eyes and rubs at the redness that mars her sore skin.

“You must be Sakura.” A soft voice calls.

Her eyes fly open, viridian clashing with the pale greys of a friend that was worlds away, one hand cradling a swollen stomach and the other tugging at the sleeve of a man who was _definitely_ not Naruto – 

“H-Hinata.” Her voice cracking.

But definitely, a _very_ blind Uchiha Obito.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Still going strong, i'm going to be working over Christmas so wanted to get this chapter out before I get swamped again!
> 
> I actually commissioned a lovely artist called Behinda who you can find over at twitter @behindxa - they did an amazing piece for this story!! Hope you love it as much as I do!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was inspired by 'Ghost' by twilightdazzle over at ffnet - definitely check it out if you haven't done so!
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


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